


I am the fever you can't sweat out

by Ragno



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Fever Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragno/pseuds/Ragno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little ficlet about the time they spent in Maryland recording AFYCSO.</p>
<p>Happy 10th birthday, Fever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am the fever you can't sweat out

 

Everyone is excited when they arrive to Maryland. Excited and nervous and a little bit scared. Everything is new, and weirdly shiny or weirdly dark, and absolutely awesome. The apartment is a shithole, but is _their_ shithole, at least for a couple of weeks, and Brendon is so hyper he wants to run around like crazy, jump on the sofas, kick the walls and hang from the ceiling lamp (if there was a ceiling lamp. Or more than one sofa).

—Dude, I’m so fucking nervous I think I’m gonna shit myself. Or throw up —Brendon says, grabbing Ryan’s arm with a 1000 watts smile.

Ryan frowns, but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t say Brendon’s gross, doesn’t ask him to not throw up on him, doesn’t give him one of his looks that says “oh my god, you’re such a child”. He just frowns and let it be, crossing his arms harder around his body, almost catching Brendon’s hand between his chest and his biceps.

They look around a little, check the only bedroom, name the bunks, leave the few clothes they have and then check the living room. There’s a TV and a couch and a little table with four chairs next to the kitchen, which is totally empty but they don’t mind, it’s not like they’re going to cook anyway.

Brent throws himself in the couch the moment they’re settled, getting his phone and saying something about “getting chicks to know his number” before burying his face on the screen and never look away. Spencer wants to go outside, check the place, at least to know where are the nearest grocery stores, where they would buy their microwave meals. Brendon just wants to do something, anything, he’s already checked bathroom, bedroom, closets, settings and everything else, and just want to keep doing things. And Ryan, Ryan is… quiet.

He’s been quiet the whole trip, now that Brendon thinks about it. Not his usually quiet, with the headphones and the books and the ‘shut the fuck up, Brendon’ look. He’s just been quiet, and nothing else. Brendon thinks about asking him, but then Spencer puts on the TV and there’s this show about animals doing human things and it’s hilarious, and Brendon just forgets.

 

 

*

 

 

The second day, Pete calls and asks how’s everything doing. They put on the speakerphone and everybody tells him stuff about the place and the recording studio and Brendon shouts “This is fucking awesome!!” and everybody laughs. Then Ryan takes the phone away and closes himself in the bedroom to talk to Pete in private, probably about mature things like the contract or the days of recording and stuff.

They start working on the songs earlier than Brendon would like, but Ryan says they don’t have enough time and they should hurry if they want the songs to sound like they’re supposed to. Brendon knows that implies he has to work to sound like he’s supposed to, too. Like Ryan wants him to.

It’s fucking exhausting.

Ryan’s still quiet in the apartment but, once they’re in the studio, he becomes the dictator they all fear and love (but mostly fear). Spencer’s fucking amazing, and Brendon sings his lungs out. Ryan scolds him for that, saying he has to take care of his voice, but how the fuck is he supposed to do that when they’re living out of noodles and pop tarts? It’s not like he can swallow egg white or shit like that.

Thinking about it, maybe that’s why Ryan wants him to not to sing his lungs out. Anyway, Brendon does as best as he can. Not like Brent, who’s literally scratching his balls the whole fucking day. Yes, Brendon knows the meaning of ‘literally’, Ryan taught him that, he’s using it right.

Once they’re home, they usually eat and rest, except for Brendon, whose energy just keep flowing for some reason. Spencer’s watching TV, Brent’s out with someone, and Brendon’s in the bedroom, doing backflips, kicking the wall with his feet. He doesn’t stop when Ryan comes from the bathroom, in ugly shorts and a white t-shirt, but he keeps and eye on him. Ryan just sits in his bed and then lets himself lay down, his eyes wide open looking at the ceiling, his hands tangled in his lap.

Brendon thinks maybe this is one of those times when Ryan wants to do something, like reading or writing or some deep meaningful shit he likes to do, and wants Brendon to read his mind and stop doing whatever bothering thing he’s doing. Brendon thinks he’s getting better at this mind reading thing, because this time he has notice.

—Do you want me to stop? —Brendon asks, already stopping, looking at Ryan from his bed.

—What?

When Ryan looks at him, it looks like he didn’t even knew Brendon was there in the first place, eyes still wide, this time focusing on him. Brendon frowns. He doesn’t like to be that much of ignored, and he thinks about making so much noise Ryan has to shout at him to be fucking quiet. But there something in Ryan, something that’s not usually there, that tells Brendon even that wouldn’t work this time.

—Hey. You okay? —Brendon asks, stepping out of his bed, climbing beside Ryan. “Personal space, Brendon, Jesus!” he remembers, but he doesn’t give a fuck right now, and Ryan doesn’t seem to care this time.

—Yeah —Ryan answer, a hundred years later, still looking at Brendon. And Brendon has this weird feeling that Ryan’s looking at him but not actually seeing him.

Bullshit. He’s not okay. Even Brendon can see that.

He wonders why Spencer hasn’t.

Brendon bites his lip a couple of times, not sure about what to do next. He knows something’s not right here, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. What is he supposed to say? This is Ryan, after all.

—You’ve been, like, quiet —Brendon says, biting the skin inside his mouth. Ryan doesn’t say anything about it, and Brendon’s starting to feel kind of anxious.

There’s that thing in his eyes that’s making Brendon’s body react in a weird way. He doesn’t like that thing in Ryan’s eyes. He wants to take it away, but he doesn’t know how.

—I though maybe I was being too loud again, you know I can’t help it —He apologizes, even if he’s not sure he’s the one to blame here. Brendon apologizes, just in case—. But you can tell me. I mean, I want you to tell me if I’m being too loud or if I’m bothering you. I thought you knew, I mean… you always tell me to shut up and threaten me with taking my things away or tying me up and gaging me. But if this is my fault and you’re being quiet because I’m being too loud, I can shut up. I can… I can try to be better. But you have to tell me because-

—I slept with Pete —Ryan says suddenly. No expression, no inflection, just the words and his eyes big; the thing in them, bigger.

—You mean like…

—Yeah.

—Oh. Well, that’s…

He shuts up. He doesn’t know what to say and rambling doesn’t seem the best option right now, because something tells him this is serious. It’s serious and Ryan’s trusting him. Brendon remembers Ryan telling him “Think before you speak, for God’s sake” so Brendon tries. He looks at Ryan with his bottom lip between his teeth and tries to think about it.

He thinks about Pete. Thinks about the way Pete always treat Ryan, about how when Pete’s around, Ryan’s almost a different person. He thinks about all those times in Brendon’s apartment, eating pre-heated food, with Ryan talking about poetry and literature and Pete. He always felt kind of jealous, not in a bad way, but in the way that Brendon felt like he could never be in the same level as Pete for anybody, for Ryan.

Brendon always knew Ryan saw Pete like a God; he loved Pete, but Brendon though it was more like a platonic thing, like Brendon with his English teacher in third grade. It seems it wasn’t. What he doesn’t get then is why is Ryan freaking out about it. It should be cool, right? Fucking your idol. If Brendon could fuck Scarlet Johansson or David Bowie, he would… he… Well, he can’t even describe how fucking crazy he would be about it.

Maybe fucking Pete isn’t the reason Ryan’s upset. Maybe he was just changing subjects or making Brendon shut up, or simply showing off.

—Is that why you’ve been so quiet? —Brendon asks, and Ryan looks at him. The minutes feel like hours. But, once again, who the fuck takes _minutes_ to answer a simple question? Yeah, okay, Ryan.

—I’ve been thinking about it —Ryan says finally, frowning a little, and then leaning towards Brendon, whispering while looking right at his eyes—. I think… I feel… weird.

—Weird like what? —Brendon asks, ignoring the way his pulse speeds up when Ryan lowers his gaze and touch the fabric of Brendon’s shirt.

—Like it wasn’t supposed to happen —Ryan says to his chest, not looking at him anymore, playing with the hem of his shit.

—Did you not like it? —Brendon asks again, frowning this time, resisting the urge to ask Ryan to look at him. He’s not really sure if he wants Ryan to look at him right now anyway. Everything feels strange.

—I did —Ryan answers, faster this time.

—Then, what’s the problem?

Ryan lifts his head then, looking at Brendon again, like if he wanted to find something in Brendon’s eyes, like if his answer would depend on if he finds it or not. Brendon wonders if he did when Ryan speaks again.

—I don’t know. It’s just… —Ryan shrugs, and in that move it seems like he’s closing inside himself, like Brendon’s eyes didn’t have the right thing in them to make Ryan trust him after all.

Brendon doesn’t like that. He trusts Ryan with his life, and he knows he’s not that worthy, but somehow he would like to be able to offer Ryan the same thing. Maybe not to trust him with his life, but with things like this at least.

Ryan doesn’t keep looking at him this time, but he doesn’t stop playing with his shirt either, so Brendon thinks that’s a start. That means that Brendon’s still has the opportunity to win Ryan back. At least he hopes so.

He thinks again, thinks a lot, tries to analyze what Ryan has said and tries to understand Ryan somehow. His head starts to hurt after a while, Brendon’s not used to think for so long, but he knows this situation requires it.

When he talks again, clearing his throat, he feels almost more nervous that the seconds before starting a show.

—You know, it’s fine if you feel weird about it. I mean, it’s not fine, but it’s. You know what I mean —Brendon says and, when Ryan looks at him with a neutral expression, Brendon’s not sure if he knows at all—. What I’m trying to say is. Well, it’s okay if you think it was weird and you don’t want to do it again. It’s totally fine, you know? Even if you liked it and all. You can like it and find it weird and don’t want to do it again. I mean, I liked going to church, but I though it was weird as fuck because I didn’t believe a thing they said. It was fun, you know? But it wasn’t… me. So I used to go because I had to, and I had fun, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have stop going if my parents allowed me to. I think what I’m trying to say is-

—Brendon —Ryan stops him, and Brendon realizes he’s been rambling again. He wants to slap himself but, when he looks at Ryan, he’s smiling, somehow, in the way Ryan smiles, soft and small and kind of perfect, to be honest—. Thank you —he says, and Brendon has to blink a couple of times.

—Did that help? —Brendon asks, almost sure that the answer will be something like “no, it will help if you shut up”. But the smile in Ryan’s face doesn’t go away.

—Yeah. It did —he says, and then leans in, kissing softly Brendon’s cheek.

Brendon’s sure he’s ruby red by the time Ryan leans back.

—Well. Um. Cool, yeah. Totally cool. We should do this thing more often, you know? Like, talking and… stuff. I’m not that bad at it, and I can keep a secret, no matter what Brent says. I mean, if this is a secret. Is it? I am good at keeping secrets but I’m not so good at _identifying_ them.

Brendon stops when he hears Ryan laugh, low and deep but almost a whisper. To Brendon, it’s the most beautiful sound in the whole world, for some reason.

 

 

*

 

 

They spend the rest of the day working a little bit more, eating noodles and playing a stupid game of card where Brent keeps cheating. Ryan’s still quiet and he and Brendon don’t talk again about ‘that’, but it’s okay, Brendon’s okay with it. In fact, he kind of feels a little bit special now, knowing that Ryan has trusted him, knowing that he helped Ryan even when he thought that would be impossible. It’s like they are closer now. Brendon likes that.

It happens that very night, when it’s late enough that Brent has turned off his phone, that Spencer’s snoring out loud and Brendon’s starting to tame his thoughts so he can finally sleep. That’s when Brendon hears a rustle, feels a weight in his mattress and sees Ryan slipping under the covers beside him.

—Hey —Ryan whispers when they are face to face. Brendon wants to know what his face looks like, but it’s too dark for that.

—Hey. Can’t sleep? —Brendon asks. It’s not usual, Ryan coming to him, but it’s not strange either. It’s Ryan, and Brendon has learned to expect the unexpected with him.

—Yeah. It’s too hot —Ryan complains, and Brendon knows it’s too hot, he’s already sweating, but he doesn’t call Ryan out for coming to his bed, making the heat increase.

—I know. Maybe we could talk to Pete or something, make them repair the swamp cooler —Brendon says, trying not to think in how close Ryan’s body is and how naked he feels only in his underwear—. They probably think it doesn’t matter because we’re from Vegas, but I don’t remember a night so hot. That’s because of the desert, they don’t know a thing about how fucking cold it can be there. I remember a night when-

—Brendon —Ryan says, and Brendon stops. It’s curious, how lately it’s been just “Brendon” and not “Shut up, Brendon.” It works pretty much the same.

—What? —Brendon looks at him, and he can almost see his eyes sparkle in the darkness of the night.

—Do you like me? —Ryan asks, and Brendon’s heart skips a beat, but before he can even think in elaborate an answer, Ryan keeps talking—. I mean. I think you like me. I think you find me attractive, but I’m not sure, because you’re kind of a loving monkey with everybody. But I think you like me more. Am I wrong? —He asks, and Brendon feels the heat creep up his face.

It’s not like he expected Ryan to be more delicate or something, he knows Ryan doesn’t fit the social conventions. It’s just that Brendon didn’t expect Ryan to say anything like that to him _at all_. That’s why he takes a while to reply, not because he doesn’t know the answer.

—I do like you. More —He clarifies, just in case. It’s Ryan, after all.

Ryan nods. Brendon can feel it more that see it, and then he raises his hand, reaching for Brendon’s face, touching until his fingers find Brendon’s mouth, tracing softly his lips.

It’s a matter of seconds, once Brendon’s trying to compose his breathing and the next one he can’t breath at all, because Ryan’s lips are over his, soft and dry, and they’re kissing.

—Can I touch you? —Ryan asks in a whisper against Brendon’s lips, and he’s already touching Brendon, so he should mean…

—You mean like…? Yeah. Yeah, you do that —Brendon nods almost frantic, and he feels Ryan soft laugh against his skin.

Ryan’s fingers hover around Brendon’s skin, touching his chest, his belly, his hips, just little touches before slipping them through the elastic band of Brendon’s boxers. It’s almost too fast. Brendon remembers doing this with girls and they always hesitate, they always tease a little. Ryan has gone for it then and there, and Brendon thinks it’s fucking amazing.

The moment the long fingers wrap around his already hard cock, Ryan kisses him again, and it’s also soft but this time is wet. Brendon feels Ryan’s tongue lick his lips carefully, almost sweet, before pushing between them. It’s warm and is wet, and their lips press and their tongues touch and Brendon thinks, “woah, this is Ryan’s taste.” He thinks he hasn’t loved something so fast in his whole life.

Brendon whimpers when Ryan starts stroking him, experimental touches that make him tremble because that’s Ryan’s hand and that’s his cock and Ryan’s jerking him off, for God’s sake! His hips move by themselves, thrusting a little against Ryan’s fist, moaning and biting Ryan’s lip. Ryan moans too, even if Brendon’s not touching him at all, turning the kiss a bit faster, a bit harder, a bit wilder. Brendon thinks he’s going crazy.

He raises his hands to tangle his fingers in Ryan’s hair, but he stops them in the middle of their way.

—Wait —Brendon pants, his hands pressing softly in Ryan’s chest, and woah, who knew he had that much of self-control—. This is… You are not playing with me, right? I mean…

He means this is something for him; this is not just fooling around because it’s him and it’s Ryan, and this is pretty much a fucking dream come true. Of course he won’t stop if Ryan says they’re just playing because, well, it’s fucking Ryan (no pun intended), but at least he wants to know, to be sure.

When Ryan looks at him, he seems so offended even in the dark, Brendon’s afraid now it’s Ryan who will make them stop.

—No —Ryan says, and the thing in his eyes is back, somehow, in a different way—. I would never… I won’t do that to you, B. You hear me?

—Okay —says Brendon.

—I don’t do that, Brendon. I don’t play.

—Okay, Ry —Brendon nods, swallowing and looking at his eyes—. So, do we…?

They do.

Ryan’s lips are back on his and Ryan’s hand moves again, making Brendon shiver and gasp, moving closer, opening his mouth and searching Ryan’s tongue with his own. He’s sweating a lot now; he can feel the drops falling in his skin, his neck, his back.

His hands go right to Ryan’s hair, tangling his fingers there, closing his eyes and moaning in Ryan’s mouth. The feeling is overwhelming, and even if he wants this to last, he knows he’s absolutely not going to.

—Bren, hey —Ryan says, breaking the kiss, but not stopping the hand in his cock—. You have to be quiet, okay? You don’t want to wake up the boys, do you? You don’t want them to see you like this.

Like Brendon gives a fuck about anything else than Ryan right now, to him it’s like the only thing that exist in the world in this very moment is his bed and they. But Ryan’s right, he suppose, so Brendon licks his lips and nods.

—That’s it, babe. Be good and I’ll make you come —Ryan kiss Brendon’s lips sweetly and Brendon groans because what the fuck was that? Why did Ryan decide it is okay to talk dirty right now? And why the fuck he didn’t know Ryan liked to talk dirty?

Now he’s sure he’s not going to last.

—Okay, okay, I’ll be good —Brendon pants, liking his lips, kicking Ryan’s—. But you need to let me touch you. Just, please. I need it.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, why he’s begging. Brendon’s not used to beg, he asks and he takes and he’s happy with it, but there’s something in Ryan, something that tells him he likes that, and something in him wants to please him so bad.

—You want to make me come, too? Uh? —Brendon can hear Ryan’s smirk in his voice.

—Fuck, Ryan —It’s going to be a hell of a lot more complicated to stay quiet than he thought.

It feels so natural it scares him, the way his hand goes down on Ryan’s body, touching, feeling, sneaking under his pajama pants, his underwear. Brendon can feel how hard Ryan is before actually touching him, and when he does he has to bite hard his own mouth not to moan. Ryan’s hot, rock hard and practically leaking when he touches, and he feels huge in Brendon’s fist. His mouth salivate and Brendon realizes his brain is thinking ahead of him, thinking about how good Ryan would feel like in his mouth, how good he would taste like in his tongue.

That thought alone almost throws him over the edge, and he fist Ryan’s cock, take the same pace as Ryan. It feels so different, the weight, the heat, the smell. He’s touching Ryan, and Ryan’s touching him, and one could think that, if Brendon closes his eyes, it feels like he’s jerking off himself. Not at all.

It’s actually so distracting, the way Ryan’s fingers touches his skin, the way his palms is soft against the shaft, the head, rubbing, making circles, running his fingers up and down and making him crazy, Brendon finds it difficult to stay focus and touch Ryan properly.

He thinks about asking, “do you like that, Ry? Do you like the way I touch you?” but it feels like he would choke on the words. And, honesty, he doesn’t need more dirty talk, even coming from himself.

Ryan’s panting anyway, moaning soft sometimes, whimpering and kissing Brendon, biting his mouth, licking his tongue, and even if he’s doing a better job at being quiet than Brendon, he can tell he’s enjoying himself.

That’s good. That’s actually awesome, that it’s him who’s making Ryan feel like that, that it’s him who’s going to make Ryan _come_. Brendon moans. Fuck, this is too mucho for him.

His cock twitch, and he feels the heat pooling in his guts when Ryan twists his wrist, going faster, stroking harder. Brendon hides a moan in Ryan’s mouth, thrusting with his hip, trying to keep the same rhythm with his own hand.

—Are you close? —Ryan whisper in his ear, and Brendon swallows and nods, searching Ryan’s mouth with his own, kissing him harsh—. Then do it. Come for me, B. I want to feel it.

—Yeah. Yes. Just. Keep doing that, keep… —The words get stuck inside his throat, and Brendon feels his balls tense up, all his muscles getting rigid and trembling at the same time—. Ryan. _Oh, fuck_. Fuck

He’s coming. He’s spilling himself inside his underwear, in his bed, with Spencer and Brent sleeping just right there, with Ryan’s hand wrapped around his cock.

—Oh my God, Brendon —The urgency in Ryan’s voice makes Brendon want to get hard again when he hasn’t even gone soft—. Make me come, babe. Make me. Touch me faster.

Brendon does. Hell, Ryan could ask him right now to build a house out of needles and he would do it, he would do anything for Ryan, any fucking thing. That should scare him, but it makes him insanely hot instead.

It takes a few strokes, a few more kisses, and Brendon feels Ryan coming hot and thick all over his hand, the smell filling up the air, and Brendon loves it. He does. He wants to do that for the rest of his life.

It’s getting light, enough for the sun to come through the window, to reveal their bodies tangled under the sheets. Brendon can see now how damn beautiful Ryan is, with his red shiny lips, his messy hair, his flustered look. They both take their hands out of each pant at the same time, and they giggle like stupid, looking away but not in a bad way. It’s just… It’s just them.

That’s when Brendon knows. That’s when Brendon realizes is in love with that weirdo he doesn’t get the half of the time and is always telling him to shut the fuck up. Brendon’s in love with Ryan.

It kind of makes sense.

Brendon thinks about if Ryan would feel the same. Not now, maybe in the future. And then he thinks about what Ryan told him the previous afternoon, that thing with Pete. He knows he can’t compete with Pete, and if Ryan felt weird with him, maybe he did with Brendon too. Maybe he didn’t feel anything at all. He doesn’t like that trail of thoughts, but his mind is not always the kindest with him.

He swallows and shakes his head a little.

—Hey, Ry —Brendon calls, biting almost to hard at the skin inside his mouth. When Ryan looks at him, cheeks still flushed, hair messed up, the sparkles in his eyes and, fuck, that smile, for God’s sake, Brendon’s stomach twists—. Does this feel weird? —He asks in a whisper, kind of afraid of hearing the answer.

But Ryan keeps smiling and Brendon has to smile back because his muscles are not his anymore, his fucking face, his body. It all belongs to Ryan now.

Ryan smiles, and leans in and kisses him. It’s soft, and warm, and his lips feel a little bit dry now, but still perfect.

He’s still smiling when he answers.

—No. This feels like it supposed to be.

 

 


End file.
